


to be a muse may be enough

by unpoetically



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Louis, Louis in Makeup, Louis is loud, M/M, Masturbation, Self Orgasm Delay, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, and harry as the photographer, are you ready for the cliche careers?, but only because it's being filmed in black and white ok this is a very common thing in film, i couldn't resist making it louis/harry in the end oops, kind of...because harry is filming it so i guess?, louis the drama student, zayn the art student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpoetically/pseuds/unpoetically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zayn came to him with a job, Louis never expected to be sat in a studio, wearing lipstick and reading a book about Death whilst being plugged with a vibrator. Did he also mention he's being filmed by the fittest photographer he's ever seen?</p><p> </p><p>a.k.a the hysterical literature AU i can't believe hasn't been written yet</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be a muse may be enough

**Author's Note:**

> warning: there's mentions of necrophilia but it's from the book Louis reads. It's the same book as in the video this fic was based on because i'm far too lazy to choose a different one. Let it be known i am not condoning necrophilia. i never thought that would be a sentence i would ever type, yet here i am. 
> 
> title is from the book Sexing the Cherry.
> 
> based on this prompt:  
> http://bottomlouls.tumblr.com/post/84490860620/bottomlouls-louis-doing-a-hysterical-literature
> 
> and this video:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQuT-Xfyk3o
> 
> I take no credit for Hysterical Literature, you can watch all ten current sessions on YouTube.
> 
> Unbeta'd please feel free to point out any mistakes!

“Zayn. _Zayn_. Zen. Zainy. Are you listening to me?” Louis whines, looking down into his empty packet of crisps. He debates whether or not he should lick up the crumbs from his joggers, it’s his _dinner_ after all. “Zayn, I’m so-“

“Broke, I know,” Zayn interrupts, not taking his eyes off the canvas in front of him. He’s got a smear of green paint across his cheek, ending somewhere on the bridge of his nose, and charcoal stains on his upper lip, and it’s so unfair that he still manages to look like a Vogue model. “You’re as tiring as those ratty pants you still insist on wearing.”

Louis pouts, looking down at his aforementioned attire. Okay, so his grey sweats _may_ have finally seen their day. About two years ago. But- “They’re my go-to comfy wear. Otherwise I’ll have to break out my glittery ones and they don’t go with my mood right now.”

“You’ve been feeling pretty ugly every day for three years then,” Zayn smarts, teething lightly on the end of his paintbrush.

Louis miffs, looking down at his worn down, stained pants with a little pout. “Well with you as my room-mate, it’s not exactly hard.”

It’s an easy tactic, the self-deprecating act. One that works every time, and he would feel guilty about manipulating his very best friend, if it wasn’t a sure fire way of getting his attention, and a good hour, at minimum, of cuddles.

What can he say? He’s needy and unashamedly so.

Sure enough, Zayn’s at his side before he can blink twice, already cooing and kissing him gently on the forehead. “Okay, babes, I’m yours for the next thirty minutes, and then I’ve gotta finish this painting for Mrs Sixton in Llandudno.”

Zayn pulls Louis closer to him, and Louis lets out a pitiful whine as he snuggles closer into the crook of Zayn’s, albeit very bony, shoulder.

“See? This is what I’m talking about!” Louis’ voice is muffled, and he’s probably getting Zayn’s shirt damp with saliva, but he can’t find it within himself to care at this very moment. “You’re off becoming an Etsy mongel-“

“Think you mean mogul, babe,” Zayn corrects softly, running an ink stained hand through Louis’ greasy fringe.

“And you’re already saving up to pay off your student loans,” Louis continues, choosing to ignore Zayn’s interruption. He doesn’t need _another_ reminder of how superior Zayn is to him, thank you very much. “And then there’s me; pathetic drama student who’s going to be stuck in an endless cycle of dead end part time jobs, before succumbing to an inevitable death of starvation because he was too broke to even afford train fare to get to auditions.”

“You’re not pathetic, Boo bear,” Zayn denies, and Louis lets out an indignant huff against his chest. Christ, _one_ overheard Skype call with his mum, and the nickname sticks for life. “You just need a break, no matter how small or big. You just gotta get your face out there.”

“Thanks, Z, but I told you, I’m not doing a KFC advert,” Louis brings his legs up across Zayn’s, so he’s effectively sitting in his lap. “Do you know how unsexy it is to be known as the _KFC guy_? Bloody hell, I’d never get fucked again.”

Zayn snorts and shakes his head. “At least you’d get a lifetime supply of free chicken. You can say goodbye to Walkers dinners.”

Louis pulls away with a grunt and smacks Zayn in the chest with a fancy couch pillow that _definitely_ belonged to Zayn’s mother at one time. It’s far too delicate and pretty to have come from any of their pockets. “You’re a right twat, you know that?”

Zayn simply raises a brow at him. “You want cuddles or not? Mrs Sixton could always get her painting a day early.”

Well. Louis supposes he can postpone beating Zayn to chiffon death for twenty four hours. Or at least until he goes to sleep so he can try that hand in warm water trick.

 

X

Louis really needs to find a new job. Actually, he should find his ex who recommended the job for him in the first place, and punch him in the dick. A ten hour shift at Toys R Us, on a _Sunday_ no less, is something he wouldn’t even wish on the worst of his enemies.

He practically collapses through the front door of his flat and crawls pathetically to the couch. He throws himself onto the cushions head first with a defeated groan, perfectly content to just lie there for all eternity. That is, until the lingering stench of kid vomit and sweat becomes much too pungent for his senses to handle, and he retches into the couch.

Louis forces himself to stand up and drags his feet towards the bathroom. By some miracle, there’s enough hot water left for him to enjoy a six minute, blissfully peaceful shower, and he lathers himself in his favourite peach and mango body lotion, letting the work odour wash away down the drain.

 _It’s the last time I work a Sunday shift_ , he vows as he dries himself off. He’ll just work the graveyard shift once a week, to make up the difference. Granted, he may have suffer through a date with the unbearable, tall, quiffed manager who keeps flirting (quite unsuccessfully, might he add) with him, in order to pull those kind of strings.

He just hopes working at a toy shop at night will be more _Toy Story_ than _Chucky_.

Louis shudders absentmindedly, grabbing his dirty uniform and tossing it into the overflowing laundry basket. Zayn’ll get round to doing it, eventually.

He walks through the small flat towards the kitchen, gripping the towel around his waist, and begins to look for what to have for dinner.

“Pot noodle, pot noodle, pot noodle, or do I want pot noodles?” Louis mutters, scanning through the only stocked cupboard. He makes a mental note to badger Zayn to go to Tesco at some point tomorrow. “Spoilt for choice, really,” he sighs, grabbing the beef flavour. He’s been eating the chicken ones all week, he can indulge his taste buds for one night.

With the kettle boiling, Louis spends the time rummaging through his broken chest of drawers, pulling on a maroon pair of joggers he _thinks_ may have been left behind by the old owners of the flat. Whatever, free clothes are _free,_ he’s not complaining. Besides, they’ve been through the washing machine enough times that the branded logo on the side has long since faded away.

The kettle starts to whistle just as Louis hears the front door open. He makes his way down the mini corridor, greeting Zayn with a kiss on the cheek as he passes him on route to the kitchen.

“Hello, darling,” he calls out, carelessly pouring the steaming water into the cup, and he yelps when a small amount splashes his bare torso. _Fucker_ , which hurt.

“Boo bear, I have good news,” is Zayn’s reply when he walks into the kitchen, resting against the countertop.

“You finally sold that Aquaman painting?” Louis pipes up, breaking the noodles with his fork harshly.

It’s a water painting, with an acrylic finish, and, _really,_ it’s stunning to look at. But it’s DC scum, and it’s Louis’ name which is on the lease of the flat, so really, it should be a Marvel zone only, and he has to stare at that ugly face hanging up above their TV every single day. Zayn’s lucky he’s talented, because it’s the only reason Louis hasn’t accidently tossed it out the window.

Zayn clicks his tongue and Louis can’t hold back his snort.

“ _No_ ,” Zayn drags out, taking his time to scowl at Louis. “But if you really wanna go there, just remember _who_ greets your dates at the door whilst you make your dramatic, _Clueless_ entrance, and _who_ once caught you reenacting that Mariah Carey music video in your _I heart Spiderman_ boxers.”

Louis gapes at him in horror, and he can feel his cheeks flush and the back of his neck prickles intensely. “You told me you didn’t see anything!”

“I told you I _wished_ I didn’t see anything,” Zayn smirks at him triumphantly, reaching for the tomato sauce sachet and emptying it into his noodles.

Louis sniffs indignantly, grabbing his pot noodle and fork, budging past Zayn into the living room. The noodles aren’t fully cooked through, and they get stuck in his teeth, but he’s starving, and isn’t al dente supposed to be all the craze right now? He plops down onto the couch, tucking his feet under his bum and reaches for the remote to the TV.

“So what’s this good news, then?” Louis asks once Zayn joins him, settled on watching an old episode of _Balls of Steel_.

“I have a job for you,” and _Christ,_ he really does cut to the chase, doesn’t he? Louis chokes on a forkful of noodles, letting the chewed up pieces of pasta spray over his lap and onto the floor. Zayn’s quick to thump him on his back, helping to clear his airways.

“What kind of job?” Louis wheezes out, wiping away stray tears threatening to fall.

“The kind of job that will help get your face out there, and help me finish my art assessment.”

Louis glances at him quizzically. “Come again?”

Zayn lets out an airy sigh, and shuffles around on the couch to get more comfortable.

 _Oh here we go with story time_ , Louis rolls his eyes.

“So for my final exam, we have to incorporate media into our work, and find other ways of making art that doesn’t come from a paint palette, yeah?” Zayn checks, and Louis nods to show he’s listening, forcing himself not to stray his gaze onto the television. “And we were each given two themes to portray, and mine is the relationship between the mind and body, and society’s attitudes to art and sexuality.”

“How are you supposed to show that?” Louis asks, baffled. He’s never been gladder to have not taken an art course. Dick doodles can only get him so far in life.

“With you, nine other models and an old photographer friend of mine,” Zayn replies simply.

Louis’ pretty sure his eyes bulge out of his head. “But I’m not a model?” He squawks indignantly.

“No you’re not, but you’re an actor, and you have one of the most aesthetically pleasing profiles I’ve ever seen,” and, _okay_ , if buttering Louis up is his plan, then it’s working. Louis catches himself smiling into his cup shyly.

“Za _yn_ ,” he begins to protest quietly.

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn mocks, before tutting and scooting closer, bringing his hand up to comb through Louis’ damp hair. “Trust me when I say you’re perfect for the job, babes. There’s no one else I want to do it, and I’ve already turned away sixteen blokes for it.”

Louis groans, and shoves his head into the palm of his hands. “What would I have to do?” Louis asks.

There’s a pause of Zayn’s movements through his hair, and he can feel his nails scratch against his scalp lightly, the movement making him shudder.

“You just have to read,” Zayn replies, a beat too late, and his voice an octave too high, coming down to kiss at his temple gently.

Louis huffs. “I hate reading.”

He feels Zayn smirk against his skin, before pulling away to grin at him, an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“Trust me, Boo bear,” Zayn says coyly. “You’ll enjoy it.”

 

X

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to wear _makeup_ , Zayn!” Louis splutters, edging away from the impatient makeup artist.

He sees her shoot Zayn a look of frustration, and he has to bite down on his cheek to make sure he doesn’t stick his tongue out at her like a three year old.

“Babe, we’re filming in black and white, it’s just a little bit of studio finish powder and lipstick to make sure your key features don’t get drowned out by the lights,” Zayn explains calmly.

“The powder is green! I don’t wanna look like the Hulk!” Louis is indignant, and he definitely does _not_ stamp his foot.

“It’s translucent, it won’t actually turn your skin green, only the camera will register it,” the makeup artist explains dryly, tapping the powder brush against her palm impatiently.

Louis glares at her, before turning to Zayn, his chin cocked up in the air. “But the lipstick, really?”

“We don’t want your lips to disappear, it’s just pink, anyway, it’ll match your natural tone, anyway,” Zayn urges, grabbing his shoulders and guiding him down to the chair.

Louis flushes as the makeup artist resumes caking him in the powder, a small cloud surrounding his nostrils and he has to tap the roof of his mouth with his tongue to make sure he doesn’t accidently sneeze all over her.

It takes her less than five minutes to finish, and she is quick to grab her belongings and leave the room, not even taking the time to say goodbye. Louis scoffs.

“Nice lady you got there,” he smarts to Zayn, who’s rummaging through a duffle bag behind him.

“Tess means well, she does, but she’s been doing this all day, she was just eager to go home, is all,” Zayn says, with his back to Louis, pulling something out of the bag and hiding it as he turns back to his friend.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “What’s that?”

Zayn at least has the decency to look sheepish, and Louis can feel his stomach fall out of his arse.

“Zayn,” he says warningly.

“So, I, uh,” Zayn coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may have left something key out?”

Louis narrows his eyes into thin slits. “Left what out?” he spits through clenched teeth.

Zayn swallows. “So, yeah, okay you are going to be reading, that’s all you’ve got to do, but there’s uh, something you have to…um, wear? Technically, I mean, everyone else did it without a problem, they kind of found it exhilarating, you can speak to some of them before you do anything if you want-“

“Zayn!” Louis shouts. “What are you on about?”

Zayn swallows again, licking his lips as he slowly pulls out his arm from behind his back to reveal-

Oh, _hell no_.

It’s new, and unused, still encased in the box with the plastic wrapped around it, so he’ll give Zayn points for hygiene and safety. It doesn’t look particularly huge, or threatening, but…yup, that’s definitely a remote activated vibrator in his hands. Holy _shit_.

Louis can feel an early grave coming.

“Explain, please,” Louis says shakily.

Zayn puffs out an uneasy breath, and slowly moves to place it on the makeup table, Louis’ eyes tracking the movement.

“In order to show the relationship between the mind and body, and how long distractions actually work before we succumb to the most natural pleasure in the world, the, um, models are required to use one of these during the sessions. Sex is such a taboo thing in our society, and I want to show how beautiful it is,” Zayn explains.

“And me masturbating on camera does that?” Louis splutters. “Zayn, I’m not a porn star!”

“Neither are the other nine people who completed it before you! Look, you don’t wear it whilst you read the entire book, you just have to read an extract until you, well, _finish_ ,” Louis groans, cutting Zayn off, and he’s beginning to think the makeup was pointless, because he can already feel himself break into a nervous sweat.

“I have to _come_ on camera?” Louis whispers.

Zayn pats his shoulder comfortingly. “You’re sat behind a table, and the camera only shows you from the table upwards, and you’re wearing your clothes. For all they know, you’re just faking it.”

“But I’ll know,” Louis mutters miserably. “My mum is gonna want to watch this, Zayn. She’s so excited for me.”

“It’s a confidential art project, sent only to the examiners board, no one else can see it unless I give them a copy, after my grade is finalised. I’ll burn the evidence, if I have to, babes. But, if it goes well, and I know it will, look at you,” Louis flushes, looking down towards the floor. “And if I get your approval, I can upload it to my YouTube account, and you can add it to your film reel.”

Louis’ quiet for a few minutes, biting down rhythmically on his inner cheek as he toys with his thoughts. “Okay,” he says quietly, several minutes later. “I’ll do it. But you’re buying dinner for a month.”

Zayn beams at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Louis, thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!” He pulls away, grabbing the duffle bag and tossing something towards him, which Louis catches with a small yelp of surprise, and he blushes deeply when he realises it’s an unopened bottle of lube. Fuck, he’s not actually doing this, is he? “Well, get ready, and I’ll meet you out there when you’re done. I want to introduce you to the photographer before we get started.”

Louis waits for Zayn to leave, waits for three minutes, and then another five minutes before standing up, breathing shakily as he unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers and reaching for the bottle of lube.

He blushes deeply hearing the lid snick open, and waits for his hand to stop shaking before he pours the substance over three of his fingers.

He’s particularly clinical, when prepping himself. Actively making sure to avoid his prostate – Heavens knows this would be over all too soon, if he enjoyed himself- and barely focusing on the tummy tightening drag of his fingers against his walls. He scissors his fingers for several minutes, and he’s more than half hard by the time he’s reaching for the vibrator, coating it in lube.

It’s perhaps six or seven inches, maybe the width of two fingers, but he still bites down harshly on his bottom lip as he pushes it in, a small gasp leaving him, as it fills him up in such a way that he’s almost dizzy. He stands up on shaky legs, reaching down to adjust it so it’s avoiding his prostate, and he quickly redresses, gently fixing his fringe in the mirror.

He grabs the remote control, unsure of what to do with it, and, with heavy steps, makes his way out of the dressing room, and down the hall to the studio Zayn showed him earlier. His gut twists and turns the entire way, and he really wishes he’d eaten the complimentary bananas left on his dresser. He counts his blessings that he’s not waddling, and he can only thank his years of walks of shame to which he’s mastered the casual stride. Like he’s not walking around with a seven inch silicone dick up his arse.

Fuck, why is he doing this again?

He reaches the studio door, and, upon hearing distinct chatter, slowly pushes open the door, revealing a small, but cosy looking studio. The floor is a deep brown wood, and the walls a fresh plum colour. In the corner, he can see a black backdrop, and a white table and chair, with a book laying closed atop of it. He swallows dryly at the sight, and jumps at the sound of Zayn calling his name.

He responds with a wave, walking over to where Zayn is talking to, who Louis presumes is, the photographer, the latter standing with his back to Louis. He notes he’s rather tall and broad, and he tries his very best not to drool at the definite hint of back muscles.

The man has dark hair, nearly reaching his shoulders, but Louis can see hints of curls. It looks so soft, and he wants nothing more than to run his hand through it. He bites his lip and shakes his head in an attempt to rid of the stalkerish thoughts running through his brain. Damn vibrator making him want to gag for it.

“Louis, just in time, we’re all set up for you,” Zayn beams at him, coming forward and pulling him by the arm. “Louis, I want you to meet Harry, our designated photographer for the day.”

Louis is pulled to where Zayn originally stood, and he looks up to see-

 _Wow_.

He’s not religious in the slightest, and maybe the vibrator in his bum is causing him to be slightly delirious, but he’s a hundred percent certain he’s standing in the presence of an actual angel right now.

The photographer, _Harry_ , has possibly the most perfect set of lips he’s ever seen. A perfect, blush pink, curved into the very definition of a cupid’s bow, which compliments his fair skin perfectly. His sharp green eyes leave Louis rather breathless, and just one sneaky glance at his taut jawline has Louis’ jaw dropping ever so slightly.

So not only does he have to come on camera, which will be watched by fifty year old, snobby art critics and possibly his mother, but he has to come on camera in front of a definite _sex God_.

The universe must hate him.

Harry beams at him, and Louis wants to squeal because the man has dimples – _dimples_! – and his massive hand, that he reaches out for Louis to shake, makes Louis want to drop to his knees there and then to see if the big hands theory is in fact true.

(He may sneak a look at his crotch when he returns the handshake, and he can feel his mouth go dry at the definite _bulge_ there.)

The universe really, really hates him.

“Hi, I’m Harry, and you’re Louis?” Harry greets him warmly, and if Louis flushes, he can at least blame it on the _thing_ in his arse right now.

“I hope so, otherwise this is one awkward mix up,” Louis can’t hold back the dry remark. He’s obnoxiously sarcastic when nervous.

Still, Harry lets out something akin to a donkey laugh, and slaps, actually slaps, his thigh in amusement. Louis cocks an eyebrow at Zayn, who’s only smirking at him knowingly.

Louis sticks his tongue out at him.

“Okay, greetings established, let’s get a move on, shall we? I only have an hour of studio time left,” Zayn claps his hands together, and gestures for the three of them to move to the corner.

Louis stumbles over his feet when they get there, and has to bite down harshly on his lip to stop a delighted gasp escape when he feels the vibrator jostle against his prostate. _Shit_ , another thing he forgot about. He’s loud during sex. Like, really, really loud. This is going to be a _long_ evening.

“You okay?” Harry asks, looking at him concernedly.

Louis nods, avoiding eye contact, subtly moving his leg to ease the vibrator off his prostate.

“Okay, so Louis, you will be reading this book,” Zayn says, lifting the book off the table and waving it in his direction before putting it back down. “All you have to do is say your name, the book and author of which you’re reading, and then afterwards,” he shoots Louis a look, to suggest exactly what _afterwards_ means, “you just have to say your name again and the book title. Easy peasy.”

Louis lets out a huff of disbelief. Easy for him, he’s not the one who has to orgasm on camera for the whole world to see and judge. He hopes he has a pretty come face.

“Did you bring the remote?” Harry asks him softly.

Louis flushes, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out the palm sized black remote. Harry comes forward, taking it out of his grasp, and holding it firmly. Louis gawps at him.

Harry winks. “I’m, uh, the one holding the remote.”

He’s smirking at him, and Louis wants nothing more than the ground to swallow him up. The fittest stranger he’s ever met gets to orchestrate his orgasm. He’s never felt so humiliated. He should make Zayn buy dinner for a further three months.

“Oh,” is all he manages as a reply.

Harry’s smirk softens, and he looks at him cautiously. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lou?”

 _Lou_. It’s better than Boo bear, that’s for sure.

Louis nods, a quick reassuring smile on his face as he looks between Zayn and Harry. “Yeah, just, um, need a minute.”

Zayn gestures for him to sit down, kissing him once on the forehead in thanks. “Right, well give me a call when you’re done.”

“You’re leaving?” Louis splutters, eyes wide as he bats his gaze between the other two.

Zayn cocks an eyebrow at him. “It’s a closed set, babe. Besides, I don’t want to make you feel uneasy by my being here.”

Oh. Well, he’s got him there.

Louis just nods, settling for giving him a wave, watching his friend’s retreating back until the door slams closed behind him.

The atmosphere immediately feels heavier, and a dull, prickling feeling of suspense creeps all around Louis’ skin. The lights switch on, and he’s momentarily blinded at the brightness. He looks away with a wince, blinking rapidly to make sure he doesn’t let any tears ruin his makeup. He almost can’t believe that’s a thought that ran through his head right now.

“Are you ready, Lou?” Harry asks softly.

Louis looks up, sees him standing behind the camera, finger hovering over the start button. He swallows dryly, shuffling about on his seat as he shakily reaches for the book on the table. He nods once, and the red light flicks on almost immediately, Harry giving him a thumbs up as a cue to begin.

He lets out a shaky breath before smiling shyly at the camera.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” he’s proud that his voice comes out evenly, and firm, despite it being softly murmured. “I’ll be reading _Confessions of a Skull Mask_ by Supervert.” He lays the book flat on the table, and opens to the page Zayn thoughtfully bookmarked with a silk made four leaf clover.

The simple token makes him smile, and he can feel the tension trickle away, his shoulders relaxing as he beings to read.

“We were at a party, you and I, in celebration of a long forgotten cause for joy. There was raucous drinking. The party pushed on into the darkest hours of the night. Somebody brought out a video camera to tape the merrymaking,” he reads, his voice filling the too quiet studio. “Your boyfriend was seated at a table with some other men, drinking. And you were there beside him, with your hand on his thigh. The camera came and exhorted you all to be witty for posterity. Jokes were made. Funny faces and obscene gestures were directed at the camera.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry toy with the remote in his palm, and Louis licks his lips, his fingers edging the corner of the page nervously.

“I happened to be lying on the table,” Louis continues, resisting the urge to shuffle in his seat. The vibrator isn’t on yet, thank God, but the _ache_ crawling through his bones is getting harder to ignore, and all he can think about is wanting more friction inside him. Instead, he forces himself to focus on his breathing, and the words on the page beneath him. “Your boyfriend picked me up, slipped his face into mine, put the cheap rubber band around the back of his head. He and I mugged for the camera together. For a moment, he was death personified as a drunk man. Or was I, _ah_!” He cuts himself off, squeaking in surprise as the vibrator is finally switched on.

He doesn’t dare look up at Harry, and ruin the ambience, and the vibrator is only on its lowest setting, it’s still bearable, so he continues where he cut off. “Or was I an inebriated reaper of souls? You, my darling, leaned over and- performing for the camera- pushed your tongue through my plastic mouth and into his. You were tongue-kissing the personification of death. I could feel your breath, sh-share your alcoholic saliva, _ah_ , and your friends all cheered.” He exhales shakily, trying his best to ignore the delicious vibrations trembling through his core.

“The kiss ended, but then, sweetness, you couldn’t pull your tongue back through my face. My plastic lips had caught it tight, like a Chinese finger trap. You winced, pulled, made a sort of open mouthed gargling cry. The men at the table laughed and jeered. F-finally you managed to extract your little muscle of love, but not without cutting it on the sharp edge of my lips,” Louis feels his own mouth part open, and his eyes flutter as the vibrator edges up one setting. He digs his fingers into his palm. _Calm down, just breathe_ , he tells himself. “Af-afterward the videotape clearly showed sweet blood on your tongue. If you’d been sob- _unngh_ , sober, you might have found it symbolic. You can kiss somebody else’s spouse and get away with it. You can kiss a member of the same sex with near imp- impu- _impunity_. You can give an incestuous kiss on the sly. You can tongue-kiss a dog, or exchange raptures with lab rats. But you can’t kiss death without death kissing you back.”

His voice dies as the vibrator is ramped up _again_ , and he’s almost positive the camera is able to pick up the buzzing noise from under the table. He lets out a gasp, and one of his hands encloses into a fist. He squints down at the page, his voice shaky as he reads on, “Death is a passionate kisser. I bite your lips, chew your tongue, and leave a little taste of blood in your mouth as portent of things to come.” The vibrator reduces down to the original level, and Louis doesn’t know if he wants to kiss or punch Harry.

Still, the fogginess in his mind has dissipated for the moment, and he’s grateful enough that he can read without pressing his nose to the page. “Death is mad about you. Death loves you. Do you love me too? I’m not needy, but I enjoy intimacy – especially with you, darling. Go ahead. Slip your face into mine. I like to feel your warm lips in my inert visage. I like to feel your eyelashes tickling my empty old sockets,” Bloody hell, Zayn couldn’t have given him a creepier book to read?

Louis feels like he’s dying. Reading about death, and perversion is enough to quell the arousal in his veins, and then the vibrator shifts, pulsing against his walls in all the right ways that he has to squeeze his thighs tightly so he doesn’t start humping the chair. His cock is pressing painfully against the zip of his jeans, and Louis tenses his hands against the book pages, so he doesn’t reach down and palm at himself. Why oh why did he agree to do this?

“One day I’ll slip my face into yours too, and then we’ll experience another sort of intimacy,” he cuts off with a mewl as the vibrator violently begins pounding against his walls, and he feels his fist slam down on the desk in surprise. His eyes flutter closed, and, _fuck_ , he can’t help it, begins rocking his hips gently, the vibrator barely moving inside him, but it’s moving _just_ enough for him to relish in the spine achingly wonderful drag.

“I’ll be inside you like a lover,” he shakily reads out, and he knows, fuck, he just knows Harry can see him rock back and forth, riding the invisible cock deep inside him. “I’ll kiss you from the inside, and it will f-feel, _uh_ , like catching a chill. You’ll, _ah_ , you’ll get goose bumps up your thighs and shivers down your spine. I’ll whisk, _ngh_ , I’ll whisk you t-to my wormy bed, and we’ll lie there nestled in each other’s arms, or at least so long as you have arms. And even then, when you are hideous dust, I will remain true. I am death, and when I love you, it’s forever.”

He’s panting heavily now, and he feels so hot under the too thick white knitted jumper. He’s dying to take it off, let his skin breathe, let his hands tremble over his chest, maybe play with his nipples. He needs something, _anything_ , more than this teasing ghost of a cock edging inside him.

“And why shouldn’t you love me back? I know that sometimes you fantasize about me. You lie in bed at night wondering how and when I’ll come, and what I’ll, _unngh yeah,_ what I’ll look like when I do.” He’s panting now, barely talking over a breathy whisper. He shifts in his seat, which turns out to be a big mistake, because _fuck_ , the vibrator is now right over his prostate, and his shoulders curve inwards, and he lets out a long, high pitched moan before he can stop himself. “Am I a knight in shining armour? A fiery dog of hell? D-d-do I l-look like a vampire? Oh, _fuck_ ,” he drags out breathlessly, as he feels the vibrator pulse in firm, individual beats before hammering rapidly against that one spot that is driving him _wild_.

He can feel precum pool at the tip of his cock, wetting the front of his jeans, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s getting so close, he can feel the white hot pleasure burn through his navel. He whimpers softly. No, no, he cannot come yet. There’s just three paragraphs to go, he can do this. He. Can. Do. This.

“You ima-imagine m-me taking you into, _ohh_ , into my arms, embr-embracing you, comforting _you_ ,” he trails off into a whine, twitching in his seat as he clings harshly to the metaphorical edge. He’s _so_ close. “I’ll make those awful things go away. Life won’t be a burden to you anymore. I promise,” he continues shakily, barely able to spit the words out as he whimpers and whines. He bites down on his lip harshly until he can taste blood.

 _Just two more paragraphs, you can do this_.

“I pull back the, _yeah, fuck_ , p-pull back the curtain to reveal a wonderful new w-world,” Louis is riding the chair harshly now, his body lost to its desires, his burning need to come. The vibrator pulses hard and fast inside him, and he bites his lips as he grinds down into the chair. He clenches at the paper, in an attempt to anchor himself, and he’s positively trembling as he fights off his impending orgasm. “A party, a r-riot, _ahh_ , a b-ball. It’s the costume affair; M-Mardi Gras, the Halloween festival, the D-day of the, ohh, the Dead, a-and, it’s enormous fun to prance around on the arm of inevitable doom.”  

He chokes on a moan as the vibrator ramps up again, on its strongest setting, and Louis’s spine bows, jaw slackening and he lets out a breathy sigh.

 _No, no, no, not yet. Nearly there, nearly finished, just one more paragraph_.

“L-life is s-s-short, _ahh_! Seize the day, go ahead d-darling. Slip me on. Pretend you’re, _fuck_ , me,” he’d give anything to have someone fuck him right now. He can feel his balls tighten, the fire is twisting and turning inside him, and he’s constantly letting out choked out whimpers. He’s so, so close. “Eat, drink, and be merry. What… what do you think I d-do? I’m Death, and I laugh and make merry too. I dance with sk-skeletons, ngh, and m-make goblets o-o-out of s-skulls, _oh my god_!”

The vibrator shoves up hard against his prostate a final time, and he snaps up straight, eyes fluttering closed and-

“ _Oh_ ,” he says softly, lips parting gently as his shoulders curve in, letting his orgasm wash over him as he trembles, gasps and shakes, spilling into his jeans. He’s barely aware of his fist jolting out in an aftershock as the vibrator slowly ceases down to a gentle, low buzz, accidently knocking the book down onto the floor.

He mewls softly, hips gently riding through his orgasm, and inevitably goes lax in the chair, his limbs jelly as he collapses back.

Louis pants heavily, the continuous buzzing of the vibrator over stimulating him in a way that’s just about bearable. He opens his eyes blearily, just about able to focus on the still recording camera. Right, he needs to finish. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he doesn’t think he can move.

He finds the strength to sit back up and smiles softly at the camera. “Hi, I’m Louis,” fuck, even to his own ears, he knows he sounds out of it. He gasps through another aftershock, a breathless giggle escaping him as the vibrator jolts to a stop. “And that was Confessions of a Skull Mask by Supervert,” he giggles again as the vibrator shifts inside him, lifting up slightly out of the seat as he attempts to adjust its placement. He bites his lip and lets out a hum, looking up to see Harry smiling at him proudly, even if his gaze is a little heated. Louis licks his lips at the sight.  

“Beautiful, Lou. Just perfect,” Harry praises softly, and Louis beams at him.

The red light flicks off.

 

X

 

Louis has to commend Zayn on his thoughtfulness, as he slips out of his ruined jeans, and into his sparkly joggers his roommate left in the changing room, after he wipes away any lingering come. There’s an empty, aching feeling as he pulls the vibrator out, wiping it down with a baby wipe.

Zayn had greeted him with a giant hug the second he’d walked back into the room, kissing his face all over, and Louis, still slightly dazed from the strength of his orgasm, could only giggle and flush under his praise. Zayn left, popping over the road to get them some greasy takeaway for dinner, leaving Louis to collect himself.

Louis puts the vibrator back in its box, and, double checking to make sure the door was closed, slips it into his backpack, with only the slightest blush to his cheeks. It’s not like anyone else is going to use it, he reasons with himself.

He stands up and turns to the mirror, and he nearly chokes on his tongue at his reflection. His fringe is still damp with sweat, and there’s a high flush to his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw, and his eyes are practically glittering, and blown out. He looks, well, _fucked_.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he moves to open it, and he nearly stumbles back in shock.

“Harry!” He splutters out.

Harry smiles at him shyly, hands clasped behind his back, as he shuffles on the spot. “Just wanted to tell you, you did great out there.”

Louis blushes, and he brings his palms to his face with a groan. “It’s gonna take a long time for it to sink in,” he admits, voice muffled beneath his palms.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Harry protests, and Louis feels him come forward, taking one of his hands into his gigantic ones. Louis feels his mouth go dry at the sheer difference between their hands. He can’t help but stare down at the rings on Harry’s fingers, and he bites his lips at the thought of feeling the cold metal against his rim as Harry-

“Lou?”

Louis snaps his gaze up with a blush, coughing as he pulls his hand out of his grip regretfully. “Sorry, still shaken up, I guess.”

Harry just smirks at him, and Louis _really_ hopes his thoughts aren’t plastered all over his face. Given the glint in Harry’s eyes, that doesn’t seem very likely. Bollocks.

“Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow? I can cook,” Harry asks, and Louis is very proud of the fact that he did not squeal like a little girl.

Instead, he just nods, and smiles widely at him. “I’d love to.”

Harry beams, and the dimples are out in full force again, and he leans down to kiss Louis on the corner of his mouth softly. “Here’s my number,” he murmurs, pressing what Louis presumes is a business card, into his tiny palm. “Call me?” He looks hopeful, doe eyed and bright, and he suddenly looks a whole lot younger.

Louis feels butterflies erupt wildly in his chest. He just nods dumbly, still awestruck from the gentle kiss, watching Harry leave.

He waits a few minutes, before letting out a yell of delight, and jumps around the room excitedly. The door bursts open, and Zayn walks through, arms full of Chinese takeaway and he looks up at Louis, baffled.

“Did I miss something?”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry mum
> 
>  
> 
> please leave comments/kudos telling me what you thought :)
> 
> tumblr is thightats


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